Michael in the Bathroom
by ExtraordinaryElliot
Summary: 'KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.' Oh God, he can't breathe. Everything is a blur. 'BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG.' The voices won't shut up, and he's not sure how much longer he can last. TW: suicide, cutting
1. Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, A

_Shit, shit, shit._ He grabs at his hair, pulling harshly. Jeremy - sweet, impossible to hate Jeremy - had called him a loser. _Him_ , Michael Mell, Jeremy's best friend since who knows when? _**Get out of my way, loser** **.**_ Michael lets out a pained cry, sinking down against the door of the bathroom. He can hear Jenna Rolan knocking on the door from outside, demanding that he be done so she could use the restroom.

"I'm on my period!" he yells back, putting on a high-pitched voice - it's not hard. The tears in his eyes are making his throat close, and his voice squeaks at the end of his sentence anyways. There's a beat of silence before Jenna whispers to take his time. He can hear her walking away. _No, no, please come back! I can't- don't leave me along! Please don't leave me alone ... please?_ Michael lets the tears flow, throwing his head back against the door, hard. He's disappointed when he opens his eyes and only finds a small bump.

"Go away. Oh, God, please go away," he whimpers, holding his head in his hands. Everything is too much, it's just _too much._ He wants nothing more than to just disappear, to find himself back at home, playing video games with Jeremy. Before the whole squip incident, when things were okay, when Michael was _okay_. But he still finds himself on the floor of the bathroom, breathing heavily. He gulps, trying to get enough oxygen - he feels light-headed. _Too much oxygen?_ he thinks, feeling himself begin to shake.

 _Damn it, Jere! You know how bad my anxiety is!_ Michael clambers to his feet and begins pacing the cold tiles, hearing more people outside of the bathroom. They're knocking, and the knocking gets louder, matching the voices in Michael's head perfectly. _You're worthless. A nothing. You're the reason Jeremy was never popular - if he had left you alone years ago, he would have never been a loser._

"SHUT UP!" Michael screams, falling to the floor again. The knocks stop at once, but the voices stay. They taunt him, sounding like Jeremy. _Loser, loner, stoner, waste of space._ God, he's such a loser, even Jeremy knows it. That's why he's outside, grinding on a bunch of girls and getting drunk off his fucking ass, instead of helping Michael calm down. Because Jeremy, Michael's Jeremy, the Jeremy before the squip, would realize that his words would cut deep.

 _Cut deep ... wait._

Michael's eyes fly to the mirror. Slowly, he gets back to his feet, suddenly feeling calmer than he had been. Shakily, he walks towards the mirror, balling his right hand into a fist. When he's close enough, Michael throws out his hand, feeling the glass shatter under his skin. It cuts him, making his hand start bleeding - it's fast, it's warm, it's a lot of blood. Michael can't help but smile as he reaches down to take a piece of glass off the floor. _Loser. You think killing yourself is cool - what if Jeremy finds you?_

 _Well, Jeremy doesn't care about you anymore, so why does it matter?_

 _You know that's not true!_

 _Prove it._

When the voices in his head don't answer him back, Michael straightens his back, a glass shard in his hand. Slowly, he lifts his sleeve, feeling his heart start to pound. He hadn't cut himself for a year now, not since Jeremy had walked in on him trying to hang himself and flipped shit. But now, now Jeremy wasn't around. Or, he was - he just didn't care that Michael Mell, his ex-best friend, was about to bleed to death in the bathroom while he danced around with girls.

Taking a deep breath, Michael presses the shard to his skin. He presses down, hard, and drags it against his skin. It doesn't hurt. _Why doesn't it hurt?_ Michael doesn't dwell on that, instead doing it again. And again. And again, until his arms are nothing but blood and cuts. Michael can't even tell where his skin is anymore, too dizzy and empty to do anything but laugh.

Yes. Laugh.

He's shaking with laughter, staring at his own arm and looking at the damage he had caused. Tears fill his eyes, but Michael can't tell if they're from laughing or crying. Maybe both? _What have you done? Oh, God, Michael - what the fuck have you done to yourself? No, no, no, you can't die! You haven't left a note- God, a note! Mom, dad, Jeremy ... shit. Text him. Text Jeremy, right now! Maybe he can save you!_

Michael doesn't waste any time, already texting Jeremy before he knows what's happening.

 **Michael** : _I'm sorry. God, I'msorry._ Everhing _will be_ alwrite _soon._

Michael cringes when he sends the message, knowing he made so many typos. But he doesn't have to wait long before Jeremy texts him back.

 **Jeremy** : _wtf? what's happening? why are you sorry?_  
 **Michael** : _shit dude, I fucked up._ Ifuckip _up_ im _sorry_  
 **Jeremy** : _Michael your scaring me_  
 **Jeremy** : _Michael_  
 **Jeremy** : _Michael_  
 **Jeremy** : _Michael?_  
 **Jeremy** : _I'm looking for u, where are u?_  
 **Jeremy** : _Michael!_

Michael can't help but laugh again as his phone slips from his fingers. He sighs tiredly, dropping to his knees and laying on the floor. He almost doesn't care that he's lying in his own blood. Everything else is too much for him to think about it. He can hear his phone buzzing every few seconds, then his ring tone blared across the bathroom. Yelling, from outside - it sounds like Jeremy. Michael smiles, holding his arms close to his chest.

There's a knock on the door.

 _He ignores it._

Another knock. More urgent.

 _He closes his eyes._

The sound of a door breaking down.

 _He sighs, feeling his heart beat slow._

Yelling. It's Jeremy, shaking him, begging him to wake up.

 _And Michael smiles, because it's such a Michael Mell thing to do..._

"MICHAEL!"

 _... Die in Jeremy Heere's arms._


	2. Game Over

"Get out of my way, loser," Jeremy spits, pushing Michael away from him. He is immediately filled with guilt upon seeing the absolute hurt and shocked look on his friend's face - no, his best friend. Michael is best friend. Michael _was_ his best friend. Because Jeremy knew that the moment the word 'loser' had left his mouth, his and Michael's friendship was over. At least, it was to Michael. To Jeremy, he wanted nothing more than to walk back inside and apologize for his words, to beg for Michael's friendship again.

But the SQUIP is looking at him now, eyes narrowed as if knowing what Jeremy was thinking. Perhaps it did know. Perhaps it was going to shock him again, which Jeremy couldn't stand to think about it. So he continued walking away, intent on getting as drunk as possible to forget about what had been said. _Oh, Michael. I'm sorry. Shit, I need to get back up there. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

"Don't even think about it, Jeremy. We need to work on your flirting skills," the SQUIP snaps, its eyes a fiery red. Jeremy swallows. He doesn't want to be shocked, anything but that. He gets downstairs. He's offered a beer by Jake and gladly accepts, finishing the drink in three gulps. He grabs another. Vaguely, Jeremy can hear the SQUIP shouting at him to stop, but Jeremy doesn't stop. _Fuck you. You made me hurt Michael._

'That's your ... Michael ... bringing you down ... did what you ... do,' the SQUIP says, but it's all jumbled together. Jeremy can still feel the anger, though - if the SQUIP was a real thing, Jeremy would punch it.

 _Shut the fuck up._

'Jeremy ... down ... never ... popular ... without me!' the SQUIP cried. Jeremy lets out a sigh as the monster finally disappears. But then he's filled with guilt at what he did to Michael, who's probably gone by now. But Jeremy stays where he is, no longer drinking, but still ... _standing_ there. He's alone. Well, not really. There's Brooke, talking to him. There's Chloe, offering him sex. There's him, shaking his head.

Because wasn't he supposed to be somewhere?

Wasn't he supposed to be with someone?

 _Someone ..._

 _Important to me._

 _Michael?_

 _Michael!_

His phone buzzes. Jeremy grabs it from his pocket, trying to read the text in his drunken state. Michael. It's Michael texting him. Jeremy sighs, almost not wanting to look at it, not wanting to see the words Michael was texting him. _He hates me. It's my fault. Michael hates me and it's all my fault. Oh, God, I called him a loser. I fucked up. I fucked up. Shit._

 **Michael:** I'm sorry. God, I'msorry. Everhing will be alwrite soon.

Jeremy freezes, confused. What the fuck was Michael talking about? Michael never apologized over text - that wasn't his thing. _Too impersonal_ , he always said. And the fucked up grammar worried Jeremy. Michael, for all his flaws, _never_ had fucked up grammar. Unless he was stoned. Or dying.

 _Dying._

Jeremy types out his responses as fast as he can.

 **Jeremy:** wtf? what's happening? why are you sorry?  
 **Michael:** shit dude, I fucked up. Ifuckip up im sorry  
 **Jeremy:** Michael your scaring me  
 **Jeremy:** Michael  
 **Jeremy:** Michael  
 **Jeremy:** Michael?  
 **Jeremy:** I'm looking for u, where are u?  
 **Jeremy:** Michael!

Jeremy keeps texting him until he realizes he's not getting an answer. So he calls him. And there's no answer. So he calls him again. And again. And five more times before he finally passes the bathroom and hears Michael's ringtone. A Bob Marley song. _Fuck. Of course he's in there. Fuck. Fuck!_ Jeremy rushes past the line of pissed off people, banging on the door. There's no answer, so he does it again. No answer.

"MICHAEL!" Jeremy yells, kicking the door open. His breath catches - there's Michael, bleeding out on the bathroom floor, tears marking his pale face. Jeremy rushed to his side, grabbing his arm roughly and pulling down the sleeves of Michael's red sweater. "Oh, God, Michael, no. No, please no," Jeremy begs, tears beginning to fill his eyes. "Michael, please. Michael, I can't- I can't do this without you!" He starts openly crying, no giving a single fuck about the people crowding around at the door. He just needed to hear Michael's voice again. He wants to hear Michael laugh, to reveal the prank before it goes too far.

But Michael stays silent.

Jeremy is alone.

A Player 2 without a Player 1.

 _Game Over._


End file.
